


Feels Different In A Moment

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (but a lovable one), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And I do mean everyone, Artist Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Bellarke On Gogglebox, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Murphy Is An Asshole, Mutual Pining, Twitter, don't @ me this is a great idea, everyone ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke have been friends since high school, and their friends have always told them their running commentary on movie nights is annoying. What better way to prove them wrong than by going on a TV show where their entire job is to watch TV and talk about it? And if they spend a lot of that time pining for each other, who can blame them?Or the Gogglebox AU that someone did actually ask for!





	Feels Different In A Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aainiouu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aainiouu/gifts).



> For An, on her birthday, I hope you like it babe! <3
> 
> The title comes from the song Simple as 1 2 3 by Jukebox The Ghost, because it's so Blarke and so cute and I love it.
> 
> There is also a fake Twitter universe happening in this fic! Because I like to set extra work for myself! WHOO!
> 
> Also, every TV show and movie they watch is real, except for the very first one, the Ancient Roman movie, because I didn't want to actually scroll through my very long list of Roman films to find one with the right kind of inaccuracies, so I just made one up. Everything else is a real movie/show though.
> 
> Also, fun fact, I've never tried to embed images into ao3 before, and I now want to tear my hair out and die, so #justgirlythings
> 
> Just in case you can't see the images, you can find them [HERE!](https://introvertedtaliswrites.tumblr.com/post/183289318980/all-the-tweets-from-my-fic-feels-different-in-a)

 

 

_Someone walks in_  
_Feels different in a moment_  
_When it begins_  
_Everything you touch is golden_  
_And when you feel your pulse_  
_Knock you over like an animal_  
_Oh, then you know_  
_A deep breath and off you go_

_It's as simple as a girl in a corner_  
_It's as simple as a boy in a corner_  
_When he wants the same thing_  
_It's as simple as walking over_  
_And saying something_  
_Quick, before the chance is over_  
_Here you go_  
_**1, 2, 3**_

It had all started over a year ago, after yet another movie night than ended in their friends pelting them with popcorn because they refused to cease their running commentary.

“I really don’t see the problem,” Bellamy had grumbled, shaking kernels out of his hair. “We’ve all seen The Devil Wears Prada before, and her boyfriend _is_ a dick.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Bell,” Octavia said, flicking a chip in his direction.

“You just can’t handle that we’re funnier than you,” Clarke said, hi-fiving the hand Bellamy lifted for her.

“Rude,” Jasper said, his voice muffled by the pillow Monty had wacked him with earlier. “Monty and I are _hilarious.”_

Octavia bristled, “What, so I’m the only person here who isn’t funny?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jasper said placatingly, lifting his head so he could pull the pillow underneath it instead, “Lincoln isn’t funny either.”

He earned another cushion to the face for that one.

“Just shut up during the movie,” Octavia grumbled, tucking herself back into her boyfriend’s arms.

Lincoln hummed thoughtfully. “You know, Bellamy and Clarke have a point, I really do prefer their comments to some of the scenes in the film.”

Octavia groaned loudly. “Et tu, Brutus?”

“Honestly, they should have their own show,” Monty chimed in, “Like, Bellamy could rant about historical inaccuracies in movies and Clarke could complain about unrealistic medical dramas and talk about the design of the scenes with her art knowledge… Plus they could just roast everyone on screen all the time.”

They all laughed him off and kept watching the movie, but the idea stuck in Clarke’s mind, even after their friends left and it was just her and Bellamy on the couch. He lolled his head back, exhausted. He might pretend to be an extrovert, but he was secretly just as introverted as her, and movie night always exhausted him. She knew he was secretly thankful once they moved in together that he could kick their friends out by pretending _she_ was the tired one.

“Hot chocolate?” Clarke asked.

“You’re my favourite.”

Her heart clenched a little. “You always say that when hot chocolate is involved.”

“I mean it though,” he said warmly, “You’re my best friend, whether you have hot chocolate or not. Nothing’s gonna change that, Clarke.”

“What’s got you all sappy tonight?” She asked lightly, in an attempt to disguise the lump growing in her throat. “Did the cheesy chick flick get to you?”

“Andy’s friends are assholes, and I never want you to feel as underappreciated as she does.” He said, deadly serious, and she blinked over at him. It was really hard not to kiss him when he said stuff like that. He just smiled tiredly, “Plus, you kicked my sister and her PDA out, so in my eyes, you’re the personification of all that is good in the world.”

She snorted, ducking into the kitchen to start on the hot chocolate and really tried to remember all her reasons she wasn’t supposed to be in love with her best friend.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
A week later, she met up for lunch with her old college buddy, John Murphy, and he started telling her about the new TV show he had been hired on; a show similar to Britain’s Gogglebox, called **Watching Me Watching You** – “that’s a terrible name” she insisted, and he agreed wholeheartedly – and they were open for applications. Apparently Murphy was going to be on the camera crew, and he was really not looking forward to spending hours in random strangers houses, watching them watch television.

Clarke didn’t even believe in fate, and that _still_ felt like fate to her.

So after lunch, when she was passing the time through a boring shift at the Art Museum, she pulled up the application on her phone and submitted one for her and Bellamy. She hadn’t thought much of it, had practically assumed they wouldn’t get through the first round.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Until they did.

Four months later, when she had long since forgotten about it, someone called her to give her the address of the building and the kinds of questions they would be asked. When she rang off, she couldn’t quite believe it, and she had to pinch herself a few times to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Breaking the news to Bellamy had gone a lot better than she expected. She bought him an apple pie from his favourite place and he stared down at it while she explained that the producers wanted to meet them to see if they were a good fit for the show. He stayed silent the entire time, and when she finally finished explaining herself, he just nodded once, scrubbed a hand down his face, and pulled her into a hug.

“You’re not mad at me?” She asked into his shirt.

“My awesome best friend just got us an audition for a show where we’d basically get paid to do what we do most nights anyway – why would I be mad? It’s practically free money.”

“You’re taking this way better than I thought you would,” she said.

He pulled away, grinning as he tucked into the pie, “What can I say, you’re good at bribery.”  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Then, despite all odds, their audition had actually gone _well._

The producer taking the interview, Diyoza, was stoic throughout the discussion, barely cracking a single smile through the questioning.

“How old are you?”

“24 and 26.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since high school.”

“And how long have you been dating?”

“We’re not.”

She paused, pen hovering over the sheet. “You’re not?”

Clarke shared a look with Bellamy. They had been getting that question for over ten years of friendship, and they’d given up arguing it a lot time ago.

“He’s my best friend,” she said, smiling at him.

“And she’s a pain in my ass,” he replied, prompting her to poke him in the ribs in retaliation.

Diyoza smirked at them, and by the time the interview ended, Clarke felt pretty confident about their chances, especially when she pulled her aside to tell her that the other producers would be stupid not to accept them. Something about “marketable chemistry”, whatever that meant.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
They didn’t hear anything for another three months, but by now Clarke had realised that a lot of the process was about waiting. She kept her eye on her email, searching for Diyoza’s name every week, or even the company name, but there was nothing – radio silence.

Naturally, it was Murphy who called her up. At six in the morning. She groaned and reached blearily for her phone, pressing it to her ear without even opening her eyes. She grunted a hello.

“Griffin, why didn’t you tell me you were applying?!”

“Shit, sorry, I forgot.” She winced. “To be honest, I didn’t even think we’d get an interview.”

“You got more than that, Princess,” she could hear his grin down the phone. “You got a spot.”

She sat bolt upright, eyes open. “What?”

“You and Blake. You’re in.”

She leapt to her feet and ran across the hall to Bellamy’s room, yanking his door open and jumping into the empty space next to him on the mattress. He startled awake but quickly relaxed when he realised it was only her.

“What are you so happy about at… Jesus Christ, six in the morning, Clarke?”

She beamed at him, “We’re gonna get paid to watch TV.”

A matching smile started creeping over his own face and he grabbed at her, tugging her in for a messy hug as his bedsheet tangled between them. She squealed when his fingers caught the ticklish spot under her ribs, and he chuckled at her even as she swatted his hands away.

“Hey… Hey assholes, stop celebrating, I’m still here!” Her phone whined, and she laughed, picking it back up again.

“Sorry Murphy. What were you saying?” She asked, her eyes never leaving Bellamy’s.

“I asked if I could be your cameraman, and Diyoza said yes. She’s the producer in charge of you two. The other two producers are assigned to the other houses; Sinclair got the couple from LA and Kane wanted the family in New York, but I heard that Diyoza specially requested you. Whatever you did must have impressed her. We’ll be coming by in a few weeks to set up the equipment and have you sign contracts. Hope you’re excited to have some of this sexiness back in your life again.”

“Gross,” she said mildly.

“Bye Griffin.”  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Clarke wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t for Murphy to swing by, stick two cameras up on the wall facing them, and then ask if they had any coffee.

“Is… is that it?” She asked sceptically, eyeing the devices.

“Pretty much.” He said, mouth full of the bagel she’d offered him. “Diyoza and I will set up the rest of our equipment in your spare room, because there’s really no point in us being in the room while you talk. We would just end up throwing off your rhythm.”

“So, what, we sit down to watch TV and you guys watch us watch it from two rooms over? And it broadcasts a week later?” Bellamy asked.

“Yep.”

“And this is supposed to be compelling television?”

“Hey man, you applied,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Actually, she applied, I had nothing to do with it,” Bellamy grumbled, jerking a thumb in Clarke’s direction.

She caught it, glaring at him, and he cracked a smile and pulled her into a side-hug. She sipped at her coffee. “Stop worrying, it’s gonna be great. Like you said, we’re getting paid to do what we would be doing anyway.”

“I said that when it felt less real and Murphy wasn’t standing in our kitchen, eating our last bagel.”

“Shut up, we’ll be fine.”  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Despite all her reassuring, Clarke was a little nervous the first time they sat down to film. They flopped down on the couch as normal, although, she noticed, with a little more space between them that usual. It was really weird, knowing that Diyoza and Murphy were a few feet away, listening to them and probably judging every word out of their mouths.

She needn’t have worried.

The very first program on the agenda was a film about Ancient Rome, **The Ides of Intrigue** , and Bellamy practically exploded the second it came on.

“Honestly, Augustus did _not_ live in the same time period as Polydorus. Augustus was born _hundreds of years after him,_ what the fuck is this movie playing at?”

“More importantly, why is Cleopatra flirting with the guy from that sitcom we hate?”

“How is that more important than historical inaccuracies, Princess?”

“Because we hate that show and that actor is a douche. He complained about Pride. Pride, Bellamy! This is the 21st Century and people are still annoyed at LGBT rights. The Ancient Romans were more progressive that that guy. How’s _that_ for historical inaccuracy?”

He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, that sucks.”

“Plus, Cleopatra is way too hot for him.” She quipped, eyes captured by the gorgeous woman on screen.

“Her or Rachel Weisz?” He asked. It was one of their favourite traditions; Rachel Weisz was Clarke’s biggest celebrity crush, and whenever she talked about anyone else, Bellamy would ask her to pick. She would always pretend to think it over, and then end up rolling her eyes, elbowing him, and telling him that he was an idiot.

“Come on, Bellamy, you know me better than that. Rachel Weisz is the love of my life,” she stared wistfully at the screen, hamming it up for a dramatic moment, as per usual. “Cleopatra might be beautiful, but she’s just a phase.”

He snorted.

She leaned against his side, the cameras completely forgotten, and rested her head on his shoulder.

His chest rose and fell and she found herself on the precipice of drifting off, right up until he yelled, “That is not even _close_ to the right armour for that time period!” and she jumped half out of her skin.

“So?” She asked, just to bug him, and he squinted at her disdainfully.

“This is supposed to be a film about one of the biggest wars in Roman history, and they’re all shirtless and wearing capes that trail past their ankles. How is that practical?”

She grinned. “Yes, but you’re missing the important thing.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Abs.”

He batted her with a cushion.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
The next week, Diyoza and Murphy showed up in the middle of dinner, and Bellamy offered them both a bowl without hesitation.

“Is this tortellini?” Murphy asked, practically salivating over it.

“Yeah, it’s my mom’s old recipe. Dig in, I always make too much anyway.”

“It’s true, he does.” Clarke grinned at him over the kitchen island and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

Diyoza raised an eyebrow. “You, uh, you always cook for movie nights, Mr Blake?”

“Bellamy, please. And no, not always – sometimes we get takeout or just heat up leftovers, but Clarke begged me for pasta, so here we are.”

“Mmmhm,” Diyoza glanced between the two of them pointedly, but didn’t say anything else.

When they had all finished eating, Clarke and Bellamy shuffled over to the couch and flopped down at either end. She stretched her legs out across the couch and he faced forwards, and she kicked at his thigh playfully, prompting him to pinch the back of her knee as payback. After a short tussle where neither of them was willing to concede, Clarke’s feet ended up in Bellamy’s lap. His hands came up to rub them almost immediately and she hummed contentedly, letting her head fall back against the armrest.

“Long day?” He asked, thumb pressed into the groove of her arch.

“The longest,” she muttered. “My boss wanted me to chase down every artist in a hundred-mile radius for the next exhibit.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just show him _your_ art. It’s amazing.”

She really hoped he didn’t notice the blush creeping up her cheeks, and made a show of turning on the TV instead. This was a viewer requested episode; they were marathoning Doctor Who, which was honestly perfect for them. It was one of their favourite shows, due to Bellamy’s love of history and Clarke’s fascination with sci-fi.

Diyoza had picked out specific episodes, because all three households were supposed to be watching the same thing, so there were a few from each season.

Clarke settled in to watch it and attempted to forget about her job and her boss and how tired she was by letting the intensity of the show wash over her. She and Bellamy basically had a practiced routine for this show by now, so it was even easier than the last time to just pretend the cameras weren’t there.

Then, just her luck, one of the Matt Smith episodes on the list was the Van Gogh one, which never failed to make her cry.

 _“Look at the sky,”_ Vincent said, _“It’s not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue… and over there! Lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness, the winds, swirling through the air. And there, shining, bursting through – the stars! Can you see how they roll their light?”_

“Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.” Clarke finished off the quote for him, already feeling herself welling up and they weren’t even at the sad part yet.

Bellamy’s hands, which had been lying still in his lap for the last few episodes, wrapped around her ankles. He tugged her towards him until her legs were over his lap and she could press herself against his side. One of his hands found its way into her hair.

“You know I just want the best for you, right?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, I know.” She fiddled with the hem of his shirt, rolling it between her fingers. “I don’t know, it just sort of feels like I’m not getting anywhere. Remember back at college when I couldn’t pick between pre-med and art and I just had a complete meltdown? Maybe I should have been a doctor.”

“No, we’re not doing this,” he said sternly. “I’m sure you would have been a great doctor, Clarke, because you’re good at anything you set your mind to, but you _love_ art. I’ve never seen you light up at anything more than when you talk about sketching or painting or your favourite artists. Nothing makes you happier than that, Princess.”

 _Except being with you,_ her traitorous brain supplied, and she fought not to let the sentiment escape.

“It’s… You’re a history teacher, Octavia owns a gym, Monty and Jasper have their business, Lincoln’s a police officer, Wells is going into politics and I still just have that crappy museum job. I just feel like…”

“Like you’re not there yet?”

“Like I’m not good enough.”

His hand lifted off her knee, coming up to cup her jaw, and he leaned back so he could look her in the eyes better. “Hey, hey, don’t ever say that, Princess. You’re more than good enough. Okay?”

She blinked up at him, tears in her eyes for an entirely new reason.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He huffed, pulling her back into his side for a hug, and she snuggled into his warmth. It didn’t take long for them to return to their usual banter at the screen, and if she cried at the end of the episode, it was just because that speech always made her cry, nothing more.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
The next two episodes were so easy that Clarke almost forgot they were being filmed, except for Murphy’s occasional trips to the kitchen from the spare room to get food. The first was documentaries, which they obviously both had a _lot_ to say about, and the second was sport, which they both felt pretty apathetic towards, so naturally they each just picked a team and argued with each other over who would win for the entire episode.

The Gilmore Girls marathon was next, and they got into an argument over which couple was best.

“Luke and Lorelai, obviously,” Bellamy argued, throwing his arm up in annoyance. “They spent six seasons building up to it, and then their first kiss was perfect for them. It’s years of tension building to one perfect moment, but then they make sure to show the rest of the moments too, all the ones that aren’t perfect, all the ways that a best friend turning into something more can be awkward, as well as amazing.”

Clarke definitely didn’t file away that to overthink later.

Definitely not.

“You’re so wrong,” she poked him in the chest, just because she knew it always riled him up. “It’s Jess and Rory. Two people from completely different backgrounds who initially hate each other and then work out that they’re actually perfect for each other? It’s a tale as old as time, Bellamy! The fact that neither of them are good at talking about their feelings? That Rory was still trying to make her relationship with Dean work, despite her feelings for Jess,” she was explicitly _not_ thinking about Lexa right now, “because of course she still loves Dean, but in the end, Dean makes her feel bad and Jess is the one who picks her up. His rough persona hiding a book nerd underneath, her awkwardness when it comes to feelings, the amount of almost kisses they have – everything they go through is just furthering their love story. It’s the best relationship on the show.”

“Bite me.” He grumbled, and she knew she’d won.

He lay down, resting his head in her lap, and she ran her fingers through his hair, stroking the curls from his forehead soothingly.

“I hate this show,” he said.

“No you don’t.”

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “No. No, I don’t.”  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Almost a year after she first applied thinking they would get nowhere with it, they were now five episodes deep and had developed _quite_ the fanbase. They even got approached by a young girl when they went out for lunch with everyone. She walked right up to the booth where they were sitting and asked if they were 'Clarke and Bellamy from Watching Me Watching You'. It was more than a little disconcerting, especially when she asked for a photo with them. When she left, their friends all looked like they were trying to hide smug expressions.

“You know you have a ship name, right?” Jasper said gleefully, stealing a fry from Bellamy’s plate.

“Jas, you literally have your own fries right in front of you, why the fuck–”

“–stolen fries taste better,” he shrugged.

“You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but that’s old news – the new news is that you two have a ship name. People are _shipping_ you.” He leaned forward in the booth to waggle his eyebrows at them, and Clarke huffed in annoyance and kicked him under the table.

“He’s right,” Monty said, scrolling down twitter. “You’re ‘Bellarke’ now.”

“Bellarke?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

“I think it’s cute!” Octavia said, stealing a fry from his plate.

“Oh, for god’s sake–”

Clarke placed a pacifying hand on his arm, “You can just have the rest of mine, I’m full.”

He smiled down at her and she slid her plate closer to him. Their friends were distracted from the topic of their sudden fame when Maya brought over their shakes and everyone started teasing Jasper over his massive crush on her the second she left. Bellamy tried not to sigh at their friends every time they stole his food, and Clarke busied herself texting Murphy about the ratings of the episodes.

“What about the others?” Bellamy asked. “Are they getting hounded about their love lives?”

“Well Raven and Shaw, the couple from LA, are already a couple, so no.” Monty said.

“And the others are a family from New York, David Miller, his wife Jenna and her best friend Callie, their son Nate Miller and his friend Harper. People tried to ship Nate and Harper until he let slip that he was gay two episodes ago,” Lincoln explained. “I’m afraid that you two are the only ones.”

“Great.” Bellamy said sarcastically, smacking Jasper’s hand away when he tried to steal Clarke’s fries.

“It’s fine, Bellamy, we’ve been getting comments like that for years. This is just on a… larger scale, that’s all.” She sipped her milkshake and tried to brush off her own anxieties about the kinds of things people had been saying about them. She’d seen more than one person talking about the way she looked at him and she really didn’t want to think about exactly how she must have been looking to get them so fired up. “I don’t even know why they’re so obsessed with us. You know some of them even think we’re secretly dating already.”

The thing was, Clarke had been in love with Bellamy for years. She wasn’t sure exactly when it started, she just knew that she only realised once she had already fallen, and by then she was in too deep to come up for air. For the most part, it didn’t change things. She knew he didn’t feel the same way, and she didn’t want to ruin their friendship, so she was perfectly happy being in love with him and having him think of her as a best friend. He loved her, even if he didn’t love her the way she loved him, and that was enough.

Unfortunately, the sudden rush of new people noticing her constant heart eyes for him had sort of startled her back to reality. It was easy to brush it off around their friends, because they’d known them long enough to just shrug at anything involving them, but thousands of viewers with access to twitter? Not as easy.

When Bellamy finished his food and leaned back, his arm ended up around her shoulder, like it always did, and she leaned into it, like she always did.

“Yeah, why on earth would they think you guys were secretly dating?” Octavia asked sardonically, “I’ve never seen a more platonic pair of friends in my life.”

Clarke glared at her friend and Jasper used the distraction to steal the last morsel of food from her plate.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
Filming their sixth episode got… _heated._ In a number of ways.

It all started when Diyoza sprung her with the fact that they would be watching game shows.

_Game shows._

“Fuck.” The word fell from her lips before she could catch it, and the other woman raised an eyebrow at her. She let her face hit the kitchen counter. “Oh god.”

“What’s wrong with game shows?”

“Nothing, we love them.”

“I’m failing to see an issue here.”

Clarke sat back up to explain, but before she had a chance, Bellamy got home from work, hair ruffled from the wind and already shrugging his jacket off. He always did run hot. She tore her gaze away from him only to come eye to eye with Diyoza, who was still staring at her with a measure of confusion.

“Uh, hey, Bellamy, could you just grab the mail? I forgot to check it when I got home.” She called over. His coat was still hanging over one arm and he slid it off and he draped it over the hook by the door.

“Sure thing, Princess.”

The second he left the apartment, she rounded on Diyoza. “Please, _please_ don’t make us do game shows today.”

“I’m really not sure what’s going on here. If you like them, why don’t you want to watch them?” Diyoza folded her arms, and that simple act was enough to feel menacing. She’d always been a little intimidating, but Clarke wasn’t sure she realised quite how much until that moment. She really wasn’t sure how to explain without sounding insane, so for a moment they stood there, locked in a silent battle to see who would break first.

Murphy clattered in, a burrito halfway to his mouth, “Passed Bellamy in the hallway, is he a goddamn furnace? Because I swear even in negative degrees that man runs extremely ho– What’s wrong?”

“Clarke doesn’t want to watch game shows.”

“Not just any game shows, Murphy,” she said urgently, _“Quiz_ shows.”

The look of confusion fell off his face and his lips started turning up at the corners. “Oh, _that’s_ what this is about. Too bad for you Griffin, you signed up for this.”

“I hate you, you’re my friend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on _my_ side.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only if you do it first.”

“Gross.”

“CHILDREN.” Diyoza asserted loudly and they quietened. She levelled a glare between them. “What’s the problem with quiz shows?”

Clarke stared at her hands.

Murphy clapped her on the back reassuringly, right before he said, “When Clarke watches trivia shows with Bellamy, it makes her want to tear his pants off and take his virtue on the nearest available surface.”

_“Murphy!”_

“What? _You_ weren’t going to say it.”

Clarke thumped her head against the kitchen counter again, completely mortified. “I told you that in confidence.”

“Yeah, but you told _me,_ so what did you expect?”

 _“Fuck.”_ She said again, voice muffled against the cold surface.

Diyoza tutted loudly and took a seat across from her, reaching out to touch her hand. She waited for her to sit up before she spoke, and when she did, her tone was softer and nicer than Clarke had ever heard it. “How long have you been in love with him?”

She wilted. “Years.”

“Okay.” Diyoza pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “How about this, if you need an out, you can say a safe word and I’ll pretend there’s something wrong with the equipment so you can take a break?”

“You’d really do that?”

“You’re not really giving me much of a choice here, are you?” She snapped, but she couldn’t fool Clarke anymore.

Diyoza _cared._

Bellamy re-entered the apartment to find them all staring at each other seriously and he frowned, concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Yep.” Clarke squeaked. “I’m just gonna have a shower before we start.”

“Better be a _cold_ shower, Griffin,” Murphy whispered, and she made sure to trip him on her way through.

When she emerged, Bellamy was offering home-baked cookies to the others and her heart stuttered a little and, uh, yep. Yeah that was the sound of her being completely and utterly screwed. They made their way to the couch and collapsed on it, Clarke going out of her way to be just a little further away from him that usual. He shot her a funny look, but otherwise didn’t bring it up.

The first game show was The Price Is Right, which was okay. She could deal with price guessing and laughing at over-eager contestants. They slipped easily into their usual banter about Drew Carey and the shady editing, and for a little while she forgot why she was worried.

Then Jeopardy started.

 _“The largest desert on earth.”_ Alex Trebec intonated.

“What is Antarctica?” They both answered.

_“A Scottish series about time-crossed lovers.”_

“What is Outlander?” Clarke said.

_“In 2007, Italian became the official language of this country.”_

Bellamy grinned, the way he always did when the answer was obvious to him. “Italy.”

_“The organisation that originated the word ‘podcast’.”_

“The Guardian,” Bellamy said.

_“A famous space exploration device named by a nine-year-old boy.”_

“Opportunity.” His grin widened. It was always a sign that he was getting confident when he stopped responding with a question and just dropped to one-word answers.

“That’s bullshit,” Clarke complained, pulling her legs up onto the couch and tucking her chin against her knees. It really was monumentally unfair that he was so attractive all the time, but _especially_ so when he was cockily answering trivia questions. She made a show of rolling her eyes at him. “He named both of the rovers! This is Spirit erasure!”

“Take it up with Trebec,” he waved a hand dismissively, “you’re just mad that I’m right.”

She swallowed her retort and turned her attention back to the screen just so she could force herself to stop staring at the way the muscles of his bicep rippled when he moved. _God, get it together Griffin._

The next question was a history question and Bellamy leaned forward expectantly, his shirt straining against his back. Clarke wondered which deity she’d angered that would stick her in this hell.

_“The oldest continually inhabited city in the world.”_

Easy, Damascus.” He said, throwing his head back in disappointment at the simplicity of the question and _fuck,_ Clarke really wanted to kiss him.

_“A famous female pirate who disguised herself as a man and went by ‘Mark’.”_

“Who is Mary Read,” Clarke got there before he did, and he turned to her, incredulous. She shrugged, feigning indifference. “What can I say; pirates are hot.”

 _“But,_ do you know why pirates used to wear eyepatches?” He asked, throwing down an imaginary gauntlet, the show completely forgotten in the background.

“Because they were constantly clawing their own eyes out with their hooks?” She offered sarcastically.

“It was so that they could retain their ability to see in the dark when they went below deck. So they were always ready for anything, at any time.”

“Unless you tried to throw something at them,” she snarked, tossing a half-eaten cookie at him to emphasise her point. Which really backfired, because he started inching closer, eyes twinkling. She scrambled to get away. “No. Bellamy, don’t… no, seriously, Bell–”

He cut her off by tackling her to the couch, tickling her ribs until she was gasping for air, tears of laughter streaming down her face. When he finally stopped, she smacked his chest playfully.

“You’re an asshole.” She panted.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he said, voice nearly as breathy as hers, and it was only then that she realised what position they were in. He was completely on top of her, one hand spanning her waist and the other arm beside her head, propping himself up. Her legs were framing his hips and if he leaned any closer, things were going to get dangerously close to something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“I guess so,” she mumbled, attempting to still sound nonchalant despite it all, and for a split second, she thought his eyes might have darted down to her lips.

He cleared his throat and lifted off her, retreating back to his own end of the couch.

Maybe not.

She tried not to think about why she was disappointed.  
  


* * *

  


* * *

  
  
  
  
“So, the Oscars are this week.”

“Yes they are.” Clarke said, not rising to the bait.

Octavia pouted. “And Lincoln and I hosted last year, and Monty hosted the year before that, so we were _thinking…?”_

“Actually, we hosted the year before last. Monty hasn’t hosted since the Gravity debacle of 2014.”

She tried and failed to conceal a wince. “Shit, you’re right.”

Clarke rounded on her, “If you want me and Bellamy to host so that you can all be on TV, just say so, O, because subtlety really isn’t your specialty.”

“Okay.” She said, staring at her expectantly.

Clarke sighed. “What did Bellamy say?” Because there was no way that Octavia came to Clarke first for something like this.

“He said it was your decision.”

“Bastard.” She muttered. “Fine, I will ask Diyoza if it’s feasible, but the second she says no, you back off, okay?”

“Deal.”

And then, just her luck, Diyoza didn’t say no. In fact, she thought it was an excellent idea to bring in their friends for an episode, and that as long as she had all their details, they had her full approval. Clarke immediately called her best friend.

Wells sounded breathless down the line, like he’d sprinted to catch the phone before it rang off. That wouldn’t surprise her. He was always leaving his phone upstairs when he was busy in his downstairs office. _“Hey, I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages, what’s up?”_

“Come to our Oscars party on Sunday.”

_“Is that a request or an instruction?”_

“It’s me begging.”

_“Is this about that TV show you and Bellamy are on? Because I am firmly team Bellarke, and I have been since high school.”_

“I hate you, you’re uninvited.”

_“But if **I’m** not there, who’ll save you from your other friends, and Bellamy’s dreamy eyes?”_

“Fuck, you’re right. Please come, Wells, I’ll owe you one.”

_“You don’t owe me anything; I’ll get Bellamy’s cooking and an excuse to watch the Oscars, that’s enough for me. Plus, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever so it’ll be nice to catch up.”_

“Really?” She asked anxiously.

_“Did you honestly think I’d say no?”_

“You could have been busy,” she said, defensive.

_“I’m never too busy for you, Clarke.”_

“Stop being nice to me, I’ll cry.”

 _“That’s the spirit. See you Sunday.”_  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
The thing was, Clarke loved throwing Oscar parties with Bellamy. Or any kind of party, really. He cooked, she decorated, and they both picked some games and organised the TV watching schedule. The problem, in this case, was that she’d never had to do it while cameras were trained on her before and she was finding it really hard to school her Heart Eyes when he smiled at her over the batter he was stirring.

Murphy and Diyoza had insisted on coming over in the morning to film them setting up, and it was the first time they’d ever actually been active participants in movie nights. “Setting up” mostly involved sticking a camera on each wall of the kitchen and then sitting down at the counter and drawing them into conversation.

For the most part, it was nice to hang out with Murphy normally for the first time in a while, and Diyoza was pretty helpful even if she was unbelievably stoic. Plus, Murphy was an _incredible_ cook, and he kept adding things to Bellamy’s recipes to improve them, which led to some friendly bickering.

But the Bellamy of it all was really starting to get to her.

He was sweet when he poured her a fifth consecutive coffee without needing to be asked.

He was cute when he got flour on his nose making cupcakes.

He was hot when he carried a crate of cider into the kitchen, arms bulging against his shirtsleeves.

Their kitchen wasn’t big enough for Clarke to escape just how _Bellamy_ he was, and she really needed to get some air or take a break or _something._ Luckily, the second that thought crossed her mind, the doorbell rang.

“That’s weird, no-one’s supposed to get here for hours.” Bellamy said, questioning.

“Maybe Mrs Thornton lost her cat again,” Clarke suggested as she made her way down the hall. The second she opened the door however, she was greeted with the sight of her oldest friend carrying two shopping bags. “Wells?!”

She leapt at him and he just managed to drop the bags before she was bear-hugging him in the doorway. He stumbled back a little with the force of it, laughing brightly.

She pulled back to look at him. “What are you doing here? You’re early?!”

He bent down to pick up the bags, shooting her a knowing smile. “I thought you might need a rescue.”

“You’re the best,” she said as they walked back into the kitchen. “Seriously, you’re a _god,_ Wells.”

The other three looked up at that. Diyoza tilted her head, analysing, Murphy smirked and Bellamy smiled warmly, if a little tightly.

“A god, huh?” Wells asked.

“I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

“You doubted me?” He adopted an offended expression.

“Never,” she grinned, side-hugging him again, because he was her best friend and she hadn’t seen him in forever and goddammit she missed his brotherly bear-hugs. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Annoyed that I ditched him on a Sunday for my best girl.” He started pulling ingredients out of the bags and depositing them on tiny free bit of counter they had left.

“Wow, talk 40’s slang to me,” she teased, earning her a tortilla to the face. “You could have brought him, you know.”

“I know, but he’s pretty scared of you since you found out about his second twitter account. Besides, this is a family thing.” He said, dropping a kiss to her forehead as he reached for the salt.

“Don’t be nice to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll cry,” he waved a hand dismissively, “now where’s the good frying pan, I’m making quesadillas.”

“I love you,” she said, handing him the pan, “seriously, love of my life, soulmate, angel–”

“What happened to ‘Bellamy’s cooking is the best thing in the world, nothing can top it except Murphy’s and no-one should try’?”

Bellamy stiffened but he didn’t say anything, and Clarke pretended she hadn’t noticed. “What can I say, my best friends are the three best cooks in the world, now get to cooking.”

“And what will you be doing?” Bellamy squinted at her.

“I’m dropping by Octavia’s to get ready.”

“Ah yes, the girly shit,” Wells said sagely, with a false air of seriousness. Murphy choked on his drink.

Diyoza looked confused. “What?”

Clarke grabbed her bag off the couch. “I keep forgetting, you’ve never seen our Oscar parties. We, uh, we go _all out.”_

“Everything except the red carpet,” Bellamy agreed. “And we even used to have one of those, until Jasper set it on fire.”

Diyoza’s eyes widened. _“Fire?”_

Clarke took advantage of her shocked look at Bellamy to disappear, swinging the door shut behind her just in time to hear the irate, _“And you invited this person to your **apartment**?!”_  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
When she arrived at Octavia’s, Jasper was already there, as he usually was. Something about wanting time with his favourite girls while the guys all drank beer and talked about sports. The last time Monty pointed out that he didn’t like sports either, and Jasper had pretended to cry, saying, _“please just let me have this one thing”_ until Monty relented. It was never contested again after that. They started choosing dresses for her immediately, offering suggestions and poking fun at each other. It was just what Clarke needed after her morning – it was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

“So, Clarke,” Jasper started. “You been watching the show?”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “No, I don’t like the idea of watching myself.”

Jasper and Octavia shared a look.

She frowned. “What?”

“Uh, it’s just… have you, uh, have you seen any of the things people have been saying online?” Octavia asked.

“What, the shipping thing? It’s fine, I’m not bothered,” she said, lying through her teeth.

“No, the message boards comparing notes on how many times you’ve been staring at my brother with Heart Eyes, or the time the entire internet exploded two weeks ago because he tackled you to the couch and people started saying the show should have a R rating,” she said pointedly.

_“What.”_

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a lot,” she said, her tone far too reassuring, which really freaked Clarke out, because Octavia didn’t _do_ reassuring. “Do you know if Bellamy watches it?”

No, he doesn’t.”

“Okay, well that’s okay.”

“Guys, you’re really freaking me out.” She glanced between the two of them anxiously.

“Look. I know we don’t talk about this, and that’s mostly on me, because I avoided it. I think I’ve known for a while, but,” Octavia took a deep breath, “you’re in love with my brother, right?”

“Fuck.” Clarke flopped down face first on the bed.

Jasper was the first to speak. “I think we all just got used to how you to two are, because we see you all the time, but watching you on that show, it just… it made everything really clear.”

“Is it bad?”

“Did we mention the petition for an R rating?”

“FUCK.”

She felt the bed dip with the unmistakeable weight of two people, but she burrowed further into the sheets. Signing up for this stupid show was the worst idea she’d ever had.

“Okay, listen, it’s fine–”

“–do you think Bellamy knows?” She had to ask.

Clarke couldn’t see them anymore, but she knew they were sharing a look again.

“Obviously not,” Jasper said, “because if he knew, he would have jumped you _years_ ago.”

There was the familiar dull thump of Octavia smacking Jasper in the arm, and Clarke rolled over onto her back and stared up at them. “I hate this.”

“No, _no,_ don’t hate it, this is _great!_ This is the best possible thing that could have happened,” Octavia said pacifyingly. “Now all we have to do is sit him down and make him watch a few episodes, and then he’ll realise how stupid he’s been for the last ten years and finally make a move!”

“He’s not just going to suddenly decide he’s in love with me because he sees how in love with him I am, O, that’s not how it works.”

Octavia opened her mouth, probably to protest, but Jasper hushed her and shoved her towards the bathroom to grab her make-up bag. He dragged Clarke to her feet and threw a dress at her, despite her protests. “No, you’re being pathetic when what you should be doing is wearing a dress that’ll make his heart stop, so let’s get going, Griffin.”

Clarke huffed, but she stopped fighting it when Octavia returned with her crate full of eyeshadow. She was convinced it was hopeless, but her friends were forces of nature, so she let them pick a dress and make her up and do her hair.

When they were done, even she had to admit – she looked damn good.

She was in a black dress with ample – but not distasteful – cleavage, that tapered in at the waist and fanned out loosely over her legs, ending just before her knees. Her legs looked great, her hair was hanging in neatened curls that just barely stretched past her jaw, and her lips were a dark, rich red that she hadn’t worn in a while.

Octavia was a in a short, tight black and red dress, and she looked phenomenal – as per usual.

The second they walked into the living room, all the heads swung in their direction and Lincoln immediately latched himself to his gorgeous girlfriend, dragging her onto his lap in the armchair they usually took up residence in. Everyone else’s eyes, however, were on her. They stared at her for so long it made her a little uncomfortable.

“Am I even here?!” Jasper complained cheerfully.

“You look very pretty, Jasper,” Octavia teased.

Everyone else stayed silent. Clarke couldn’t really deal with the stares, so she wandered past them all and into the kitchen to grab a drink, and when she came back out, someone finally found their voice. Unfortunately, that someone was Diyoza.

“Damn Griffin, you clean up well.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

“Remind me why we’re not dating again?” Murphy asked cheekily and she smacked him upside the head as she passed.

“Because you’re an ass?”

“Ah, yep, I remember now,” he winked.

“You look lovely,” Wells said, very platonically, and she almost laughed when Monty followed up the sentiment with a vague, “Yeah, mhm, lovely.”

When she looked over at Bellamy, however, he was purposefully looking away from her, focussing intently on his phone. She took her usual place next to him on the couch, and she felt him tense up, eyes darting around all their friends in an effort not to look at her.

“Well,” Monty said, breaking the sudden tense silence, “I personally think that this is the most diverse Oscars I’ve ever seen.”

And with that, the room launched into a passionate discussion of past Oscars, everyone settling into their own places to watch. Murphy was sitting with them, but Diyoza retreated to the other room when Jasper started talking about fireworks. Jasper and Monty were sprawled out on the floor, Murphy was sitting haphazardly in one of the armchairs and Lincoln and Octavia were cuddling in the other. Wells came and took the free space next to Clarke on the couch, and she snuggled into his side. Murphy made a snarky comment about Rachel Weisz just because he knew it would annoy her, and Clarke was almost distracted enough to forget about how strange Bellamy was acting.

Almost.

He was still commenting on the outfits and cracking jokes at the nominees, but every time she shifted in her seat or bumped him, he would stiffen, like he was trying not to run away. It was a confusing night, especially since Octavia kept looking between them and rolling her eyes exaggeratedly.

At one point, Wells bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah,” she bluffed, “just…”

She didn’t finish, but Wells knew her better than she knew herself, and he could pretty easily fill in the blanks. He kissed her forehead and she exhaled slowly; she didn’t have to let Bellamy’s weird behaviour ruin her night.

“I’m just going to get another drink,” she said, waving her empty bottle. “Anyone else want anything?”

Everybody raised their hands.

She got to her feet, “You’re all a bunch of lazy–”

“–I’ll help you,” Bellamy said.

She blinked at him for a second, surprised, but quickly shrugged it off and just walked into the kitchen. He trailed behind her, and when they got there, she busied herself finding a tray to carry the drinks on while he grabbed some bottles from the fridge. She hunted through the cupboards, but it was nowhere to be seen, and she realised that it was on top of the highest shelf in the pantry. She could guess who’d put it there.

She stretched up on her toes to reach it, but her fingers were inches away and there was no chance she was going to be able to. Then there was a pressure against her back and a hand on her waist as Bellamy leaned up to get it for her. She caught her breath, unable to stop herself leaning into him, and he froze, his fingers still brushing the back of hers.

When she turned her head, she found him already looking at her, and if she couldn’t breathe before… _well._

“Um.” Was all she managed to say.

He tipped his head forward until his nose was brushing her temple. “I know I haven’t said it yet, but you look beautiful. Not just because… I mean, you _always_ look... _You're **so** beautiful.”_

He moved even closer in the tiny space, lips just barely touching hers, and she was almost seeing spots from how long she’d been holding her breath, but she didn’t care, she wanted this, she wanted him, she wanted it more than oxygen.

And then there was a loud crash from the living room, and they both flinched apart.

Bellamy jogged back towards their friends, calling out, “Jasper! What did you break this time?”

“It’s fine, I just knocked the lamp into the bookshelf and smashed Lincoln’s glass, everything’s fine!”

“Jesus.” He muttered to himself when he returned. “How does one man cause so much damage in so little time? There’s glass all over the carpet, I’m gonna go grab a vacuum.”

“Kay,” she said, forgoing the tray and just deciding to carry the drinks in herself. She balanced a couple of them in her arms and brought them back into the living room. Bellamy was right, in the two minutes they were gone, it had become a disaster. But Jasper destroying the living room was practically tradition as well at this point, so she just shook her head at him and smiled, passing everyone their drinks.

Bellamy swept through like a tornado, cleaning everything up with practiced ease before he collapsed back on the couch. Clarke passed him a cider, and when their fingers touched it really shouldn’t have made her heart skip the way it did, but she was long past caring. His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t read what she saw in them, just that it made her feel like the air was heating up, bringing a blush to her cheeks.

Someone onscreen was singing, and when it ended, Monty and Jasper both yelled, “KISS! KISS!”

Clarke dragged her eyes back to the screen to see that there was a lingering shot on two people gazing into each other’s eyes. She wondered if that’s what she and Bellamy looked like to the show’s viewers.

“The sexual tension in that singular frame has enough power to broker world peace,” Jasper said.

“That is _not_ sexual tension,” Octavia grumbled. “Not _real_ tension, anyway.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Please, the sexual tension on that screen is rivalled only by the sexual tension in this room.”

Six pairs of eyes swivelled to Clarke and Bellamy, and she sunk lower on the couch, pretending not to notice the way Bellamy leaned subtly further away from her when she did.

“Yeah, but we all know Murphy and Wells are never gonna happen,” she quipped, bluffing, “Wells has a boyfriend and Murphy is a disaster.”

Thankfully, one of her friends wasn’t a dick. Wells grinned and hooked her around the neck. “There’s always hope. Don’t discount the possibility.”

Murphy just shot them both a sleazy look. “I would never.”

And like that, the night kept moving, and Clarke was left in limbo, wondering if Bellamy was actually about to kiss her in the kitchen earlier.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
The next week felt _weird._

Bellamy seemed to be actively avoiding her, staying late at work to mark assignments instead of coming home to do it like he usually would, going out for lunch with his sister on Saturday instead of their usual routine, disappearing on early morning runs so they didn’t bump into each other in the mornings.

It sucked.

In fact, by the time the next day of filming came around, they’d barely said four words to each other the entire week, and she was going out of her mind.

So, naturally, she texted Wells.

He came over that afternoon, ice-cream in hand.

“Have you tried, I dunno, _telling him how you feel?!”_ He challenged.

She glared at him, spoon halfway to her mouth. “If you’re not actually going to come up with helpful solutions, you can leave.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he leaned forward and stole the ice-cream from her spoon, earning another dirty look. “You’re _both_ ridiculous. Honestly, you’ve been in love with each other for years, you’re allowed to bypass the awkward part and go straight to the making out.”

She grabbed herself an even bigger scoop and shoved it into her mouth before he could steal it again, and was pleased with herself for finding an excuse not to address his comment. He continued.

“That man has been gone over you since high school, and don’t argue with me, I know better than you. Remember how he hated me when we first met? It’s because he knew I had a crush on you and he thought you would pick me. Even when I realised you and I were always destined to be platonic, it still took him forever to warm up to me. Because, and I can’t believe I have to repeat this, _he’s in love with you.”_

She pushed the ice-cream away, no longer enjoying it.

“But what if he isn’t?” She asked desperately.

The faint annoyance in Wells’ stance completely vanished and he frowned sympathetically and walked around the island to give her a hug. She hugged him back tightly, not realising how much she’d needed the reassurance until she got it, and her traitor eyes started welling up. She sniffled into his shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, “I know I’m not supposed to be nice to you, but sometimes you need it.”

“Thanks.” She muttered, just gripping him tighter.

The front door opened, and Murphy and Diyoza came into the kitchen. When they saw the two of them, hugging next to a tub of ice-cream, Diyoza disappeared immediately into the spare room and Murphy walked over to steal the tub. Clarke pulled away from Wells, wiping under eyes.

Murphy shook his head disdainfully. “He’s an idiot.”

She managed a watery smile in his direction. “No, he isn’t.”

“Yeah, he is. You’re a catch, Griffin. You know it, I know it, he _definitely_ knows it – he’s just being an idiot. Okay?”

Clarke didn’t know what to say to that, so she just pulled Murphy into a hug. He almost dropped the tub in surprise, but quickly put it back on the countertop, gripping her tightly around the middle.

“Get in here,” Murphy said, snatching a handful of Wells’ shirt and yanking him forward. Wells wrapped his arms around the both of them and Clarke had never felt so lucky to have such amazing friends.

It was only the distinctive clearing of Bellamy’s throat that alerted them to his presence, and Clarke tried to extricate herself, but Murphy just held her tighter.

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asked. “Clarke, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but she knew her voice still sounded a little wobbly.

“No you’re not,” she could hear him step closer, “what’s wrong?”

Murphy glared over her shoulder at him. “You are, you fucking moron.”

“Murphy!” She snapped, and he finally released her, only to take a menacing step towards Bellamy. _“Don’t.”_

“Why not?” He asked, still moving towards the man behind her, and she put her hands on his chest, holding him back.

“Because this has nothing to do with us,” Wells said firmly, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Come on, show me how your fancy equipment works.”

He led Murphy from the room and the silence they left behind was practically deafening. Bellamy was still just standing in the middle of the kitchen, and Clarke didn’t even glance at him, she just poured herself a glass of water. She could hear him putting his bag full of term papers on the floor, and pulling his jacket off, and she could feel his eyes glued to the back of her head, but she didn’t look around. She put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and stood in front of it, tapping her fingers impatiently.

“Clarke.” He said, but she ignored him.

She grabbed his mug down from the cupboard and reached blindly behind her to put it on the island. He always wanted a hot drink after work, and just because she was confused and hurt didn’t mean she was going to be mean.

 _“Clarke.”_ He said again, his voice sounding just a little more cracked.

The microwave beeped and she picked up the popcorn and her glass of water and strode past him and into the living room without a single word.

She turned the TV on – they were supposed to be watching a bunch of British shows, for some reason – and sat down, bringing her knees up to her chin and closing her eyes. She felt the couch shift when he sat down at his end, but still she didn’t open her eyes.

They were only in opposite corners, barely a few feet apart, but it felt like there was a whole world between them.

The first program was a British period drama, and it was only after the first ten minutes, when she heard the opening credits start, that she cracked her eyes open.

They watched it in relative silence, and she knew that Diyoza would probably be annoyed at them for not delivering their usual commentary, but the woman hadn’t come out to scold them yet, so she figured that Murphy was somehow keeping her at bay.

The next program started, Bake Off, and that one at least she was familiar with. She started heckling the contestants but Bellamy remained silent. There was only so much that she could do on her own, so after a while, she trailed off, and they were left in the quiet again.

The third show was a quiz show, and Clarke cursed loudly.

Bellamy’s head whipped around to look at her. She pointedly did not look back.

The first contestant started and Bellamy didn’t say anything, but she could tell he knew the answers, because he was fidgeting in his seat, getting antsier with every new question. His eyes kept flicking back to her, burning a hole in her cheek.

The second contestant clearly didn’t know _any_ of the answers, but it was clear from the way Bellamy crossed his arms in irritation that he knew most of them. None of that mattered, however, because he was still looking at her.

“What?!” She snapped, making him jump. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

He sighed, completely deflating. “Do you hate me?”

“No,” she said softly. She kept her gaze steadily on the TV, not trusting herself to see his face yet, “I could never hate you.”

“Do _they_ hate me?”

“No, they just… they just…”

“Is it because I almost kissed you?” He said, and his voice was hoarse with the effort it must have taken him to say the words.

She couldn’t help it. Her eyes had always been traitors. They wrenched themselves from the screen and landed on his face. He looked awful – his hair was a mess where he’d clearly been running his hands through it like he always did when he was stressed, his eyes were crinkled with something like heartbreak, and his jaw was twitching with the tell-tale sign of suppressed thoughts.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s because you almost kissed me.”

His expression hardened and he nodded, wringing his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. A tear spilled past his lashes, “I shouldn’t have done that. I… I’ve ruined everything, I’m so sorry.”

She let go of her legs and shuffled closer to him. She wiped the tear off his cheek with her thumb and he watched her every movement, captivated.

Clarke leaned closer, voice low. “You’re right, you shouldn’t.”

He opened his mouth to say something else and she fisted her free hand in his shirt. His eyes widened.

“You can’t _almost_ kiss someone and then avoid them for a week, Bellamy. You can’t _almost_ kiss me and then walk away. You can’t just _**almost** kiss me–”_

And he finally seemed to get the hint, because his lips were on hers and his hands were on her waist and _god,_ this was better than she ever thought it was going to be. Every brush of his palms against her bare skin as they crept up her back was electric and the tug of his teeth on her bottom lip made her pulse thrum loudly in her ears.

She tugged at his shirt frantically and he took the hint, tipped them both until she was lying on her back in the couch and he was on top of her, hands ghosting down her sides. They were in the same position they’d been in so many weeks earlier but this was so much _more,_ and she had the fleeting thought that the petition for an R rating might actually be appropriate this time.

She released his shirt and her fingers tangled in his curls the way she always wanted to. He moaned into her mouth. Not a second later, he started trailing messy kisses down her neck and she gasped, squirming against him.

He growled into her collarbone, hands moving fractionally higher up her sides.

“You’re killing me here, Princess,” he mumbled into her skin, right before he drew her earlobe into his mouth. The noise she made at that was almost embarrassing, but she didn’t care because Bellamy was kissing her and touching her and holding her and she never wanted it to end.

“God, _Bellamy.”_ She said desperately, and he sat back a little, looking completely wrecked as he stared down at her, thumbs stroking absentmindedly across her ribs.

She urged him back towards her mouth and he captured her lips again, softer this time. When he slowed down and eventually pulled away, he didn’t go far. He pressed his forehead to hers and sighed, nudging his nose against her cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said, voice rough.

“Why didn’t you?” She asked.

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Bellamy,” she breathed, stroking the curls away from his eyes so she could see them when she spoke. “I’m in love with you.”

He swallowed, hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You are?”

“Fuck, Bellamy, I’ve been in love with you for _years.”_

Before she could really register what was happening, his arms were under her and then he was lifting her up and sitting back against the couch. She ended up in his lap, straddling him, and his hands were on her hips, playing idly with the waistband of her pyjamas. He was looking at her so earnestly, so openly, it was like staring at the sun, and she dropped her gaze to his lips instead.

“Clarke,” he said, “look at me.”

Her gaze flicked back up to his eyes.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured. Her heart might as well have stopped, but he wasn’t finished. “I’ve been in love with you since high school, when there was absolutely no chance you loved me back. I’ve been in love with you for so long I’m really not sure what a life without loving you would look like. You’re in everything I do, and I love you, god, I love you so fucking _much–”_

She couldn’t stop herself from kissing him again at that, practically melting against him when his tongue slipped into her mouth. One of his hands ended up under her shirt and ran up her spine, making her arch into him. He moaned, pulling her as close as their position would allow, and she scratched her nails against his scalp in approval.

“We’re idiots,” she said against his lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Totally stupid.”

“I love you.”

He sighed into her mouth at the words and she smiled, ruining the kiss.

“Princess, hearing you say that…”

“I know,” she said. “For me too. It’s… it’s _a lot.”_

He nuzzled under her jaw, pressing gentle kisses wherever he could reach. She hated him for getting her so worked up when they couldn’t do anything about it, and then the reality of the situation suddenly hit her. She started laughing.

He frowned up at her. “What?”

She jerked a thumb behind her, to where the TV was still playing. The smarmy host boomed out the question. _“Which Greek Goddess was tethered to the underworld for half the year after eating pomegranate seeds?”_

Bellamy kissed her cheek. “Persephone.”

_Well, fuck._

Her self-restraint completely dissipated and she climbed out of his lap and laced her fingers through his, leading him down the corridor towards his bedroom.

“If you’re all still here, you better be gone in the next two minutes,” she yelled in the direction of the spare room, before Bellamy crowded her through the door and towards his bed, kicking it shut behind them.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
When she came to the next morning, it was to Bellamy coaxing her awake with coffee and breakfast. She sat up so he could place the tray in her lap and he crawled back into bed next to her.

“I love you,” she said reflexively, the way she always did when someone gave her caffeine early in the morning. Yet now, when she was in his bed, wearing his favourite shirt, it meant something different, something more, and Bellamy’s answering grin was so wide it must have hurt. He didn’t look like he cared.

“Love you too,” he said kissing her jaw. “Eat your breakfast Princess, I’m pretty sure all you ate yesterday was ice-cream and popcorn.”

She snorted, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth, and he kissed her temple.

Clarke was about halfway through breakfast when her phone rang with a familiar ringtone. She picked it up off the bedside table, realising that Bellamy must have found it when he got up, because she definitely didn’t put it there last night.

“Sorry,” she said the second she answered the phone.

Murphy laughed. _“I don’t know what you’re sorry for, Griffin – you got to bed the man of your dreams and get him to admit he loves you back. Pretty sure that’s a cause for celebration.”_

“Still, I’m sorry we kicked you out. Plus, Diyoza must be pissed at us.” She glanced worriedly at Bellamy and he lifted the tray off her legs and moved it somewhere it wouldn’t get knocked over. He finished off the last of her coffee and leaned closer, sliding an arm around her waist comfortingly.

_“Nah. I’m pretty sure she was just relieved you guys finally **banged it out.”**_

“Gross.”

_“I’m sorry, did you do something else last night? Played scrabble, did you?”_

“Fuck you,” she said mildly.

 _“Anyway, that’s not the reason I called,”_ he said. _“Me and Wells talked about it, and we decided not to tell anyone else until you guys did first.”_

“Wow, how did he get you to agree to that?”

There was a pause. _“…well.”_

The lightbulb went off. “Murphy.”

_“I’m just saying, it would be really good television.”_

“No, Murphy, absolutely not.”

_“Come on, Griffin, you owe me, you kicked me out last night so you could f–”_

“–you _just_ said you didn’t care about that.” Bellamy started scraping his teeth down her neck and she tried to control the hitch in her breathing.

 _“I lied.”_ He deadpanned.

Bellamy’s lips dragged behind her ear and her fingers clenched around the phone. “We’re not parading our new relationship around for your amusement, Murphy.”

_“That’s actually what you’ve been doing this entire time, Princess.”_

“I hate you.”

_“Look at it this way – if you hold off until next week, you and Bellamy get a week to yourselves. No questions, no-one bothering you, no Spanish Inquisition from Octavia.”_

Clarke bit her lip. It did sound nice. Especially when Bellamy was slipping his fingers down her stomach, slowly moving towards where she wanted him. She groaned and rolled her head back against his shoulder. “Okay, fine. But if we’re doing this, that means you don’t get to make any comments either. You and Wells need to practice complete radio silence for the next week. No teasing, no nothing.”

 _“You drive a hard bargain, Griffin,”_ he said. _“See you next week.”_

He hung up and Clarke immediately tossed her phone to the side and lifted herself into Bellamy’s lap. She kissed him passionately and she registered dimly that both of them tasted of coffee.

“So you heard that whole conversation then?”

“Yep,” he grinned, popping the p.

“And you agree with Murphy?” She raised an eyebrow.

“So do you.” He pointed out.

“Will wonders never cease,” she deadpanned, and he threw his head back and laughed. She decided there wasn’t a single sight in the world that could beat Bellamy when he was completely and totally happy, and all she could think was _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Then she was kissing him again, and neither of them said anything else for a good long while.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  
That Wednesday, they invited their friends around for dinner. Diyoza and Murphy got there early to make sure they were recording. When they walked in, Clarke was chopping carrots and Bellamy was standing behind her, his chin pressed against her shoulder as he watched her work.

Diyoza actually smiled; a real, full one, instead of her usual smirk. “Honestly, you two sicken me. Better get all of this out of your system in the next hour if you want your friends to be surprised.”

“Good point,” Bellamy said, and made no effort to move.

“You’re an idiot,” Clarke teased.

“I’m pretty sure we already established that,” his voice getting lower, hungry, and she put the knife down and flattened her palms against the counter.

“Stop flirting, we have guests,” she admonished.

Murphy threw a mushroom at them. “Didn’t stop you last time.”

“Shut up Murphy,” they said in unison.

Wells was the next person to arrive, and he hugged them both, whispering something in Bellamy’s ear before he clapped him on the back. Even from her place at the other end of the kitchen, Clarke could tell it had been a threat, and she really appreciated the sentiment, even if it was arbitrary. She was sure Wells knew it too, but he was her best friend and it was his job to be the guard of her heart.

The next people through the door were Octavia and Lincoln, by which point, Clarke was pouring drinks and Bellamy was plating up the food.

Platonic as can be.

Octavia salivated over the food and Lincoln started asking Clarke about the new exhibit in the museum, which she shrugged about, telling him it was nothing special. She mentioned conspiratorially that she was planning on submitting her own art for the next one, but she was pretty sure Bellamy heard anyway, because he beamed at her from across the room. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but Lincoln was asking her about her lastest piece and she wanted to know about the case he was working on.

When Jasper and Monty arrived Bellamy herded them into the living room so they didn’t have the chance to get near the open flames in the kitchen, and before long, everyone was sitting on the couch with plates piled high with food.

“How are you so good at everything,” Monty complained through a mouthful of food. “It’s unfair to the rest of us!”

“He’s not good at everything.” Octavia said.

Jasper shook his head. “Yes he is. It’s annoying. How are we supposed to find a woman when we have no discernible skills? Bellamy has all of them.”

“Yeah, and he _still_ doesn’t have a woman, so what does that tell you?” She said triumphantly.

“That he should learn to sew,” Wells deadpanned.

“He actually knows how to sew,” Clarke said, at the same time as Bellamy said;

“I _can_ sew.”

Everyone fell quiet, and it felt awkward in a way it hadn’t since Clarke first arrived in her nice dress for the Oscars party, so she pointed the remote at the TV. Before she had a chance to change it to the right channel, Bellamy put his hand over hers, eyeing her concernedly.

“You sure about this?”

She nodded. “They’ve gotta find out somehow.”

She pressed the button just as the opening credits of **Watching Me Watching You** began. On her other side, Wells was practically vibrating with excitement, but Bellamy looked more nervous than anything else, and she subtly laced her fingers through his. He relaxed a little, but he still felt tense and she honestly couldn’t blame him. This was either going to go really well or really badly.

The credits finished with a flash of all the groups, and when their own faces appeared, a collective whoop went up around the room, making Clarke blush and Bellamy cringe. Luckily, the show didn’t waste any time starting.

_A pretty woman with a ponytail and a guy who could only be her boyfriend appeared on the screen, “British TV? You see a lot of that when you were travelling, babe?”_

_“Can’t say I have,” he said, looking at her like she hung the moon, “but to be fair most of the places I travelled didn’t have a TV. Or running water.”_

_“That sounds awful,” she scrunched up her nose._

_“Nah, it was pretty cool once you got used to it. You should come the next time I go.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah babe, of course,” he smiled until she kissed it off his face._

Octavia groaned, “That’s disgustingly cute, get it off my screen.”

Jasper and Monty wholeheartedly agreed, chucking popcorn at the screen in solidarity, despite Lincoln’s suggestion that they avoid getting grease stains everywhere. Bellamy winced, but Clarke just leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“At least it’s not in your hair this time.”

He huffed.

Raven and Shaw continued their banter throughout the Period drama, and it kept cutting between them, the family, and Clarke and Bellamy who were just sitting silently on the couch, not saying a word.

The camera cut to the final group – the family – and the father and son were sharing some light banter. Harper laughed at something Miller said, and then Miller’s mom started ranting about something happening in the period drama.

When Bake Off started, Clarke heckled a few times, but quickly fell silent, and it switched back to Miller and Harper trading innuendos and laughing their asses off.

Then the quiz show started and Raven and Shaw started fighting with each other over who could get the answer quickest, while Miller and his family just made a game of pretending not to know a single answer and instead answering with the most incorrect thing they could come up with.

Finally, a black title screen appeared, with the caption:

 

 

**CLARKE AND BELLAMY SEEM AWFULLY QUIET.**

It faded out, only to be replaced by:

 

**I WONDER WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO MAKE THEM THAT WAY?**

**HERE'S THE FOOTAGE YOU DIDN'T SEE LAST WEEK.**

_And then it cut to footage from Oscar night, in the kitchen. The camera lingered on Bellamy’s face as he followed her in to get the drinks, at the completely and totally smitten look he was wearing as he watched her search for the tray._

_She found it, tutting to herself when she couldn’t quite reach it, and he moved into her space, pressing up against her back as he went to get it for her. The camera was at just the right angle to see the way they both froze up at the contact._

_Clarke turned to look at him. “Um.”_

_He leaned closer. “I know I haven’t said it yet, but you look **beautiful.** Not just because… I mean, you always look... You're **so** beautiful.”_

_There was one tantalising moment where it looked like they might close the gap between them and actually kiss, and then Jasper broke the lamp and smashed Lincoln’s glass and they flinched apart._

The room had fallen silent, everyone completely enraptured by the drama unfolding on screen.

_It cut to another black screen and then it was daytime and Clarke was in the kitchen, eating ice-cream with Wells._

_“He almost kissed me and then he spent the week completely ignoring me! I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. Was it just because I put on a nice dress and flaunted it in front of him?”_

_“No.” Wells said patiently, “C’mon, Clarke, you **know** he’s not that kind of guy.”_

_“So then what’s going on? I just… I wanted him to kiss me and then he ran away and pretended it didn’t happen and now I don’t know what to do!”_

_“Have you tried, I don’t know, telling him how you feel?” Wells asked._

_“If you’re not actually going to come up with helpful solutions, you can leave.” Clarke retorted._

Bellamy had to bury his face in his hands in an effort not to burst out laughing, and Clarke felt her face getting warm from embarrassment. She elbowed him.

_Screen Wells visibly rolled his eyes and stared directly at the camera for a long moment before he turned back to Clarke. “You’re ridiculous. You’re **both** ridiculous. Honestly, you’ve been in love with each other for years.”_

_The camera cut, and instead of the rest of Wells’ speech, it was just Clarke’s desperate plea of, **“But what if he isn’t?”**_

Their friends turned to look at them, but Clarke managed to look mortified, and Bellamy’s face was still hidden by his hands, so they all started sharing looks with each other instead.

The TV kept playing, showing Murphy's arrival, but their friends weren’t paying attention, still looking between Clarke and Bellamy with genuine worry on their faces. Clarke fidgeted in her seat and Wells reached out and held her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly.

Jasper’s face crumpled, and he looked like he wanted to say something comforting but he didn’t know how. It was only yelling on the screen that made everyone suddenly remember that they were supposed to be watching that, not their friends. They all reluctantly turned back.

_Clarke was wiping tears from her face when Bellamy came in. She held Murphy back from swinging a fist, Wells ushered him into the next room, and then they were alone in the kitchen._

_“Clarke.” He said._

_She was clearly going out of her way to ignore him, and the cameras caught the way his face fell and he made to reach out to her before he backed off._

_**“Clarke.”** He repeated it, almost on the verge of tears, but she just walked past him and into the living room, taking her usual place on the couch._

When the quiz show came on and Onscreen Clarke swore, she was pretty sure she could hear Murphy cackling with laughter from down the hallway, and she resolved to murder him later.

Monty still looked like he wanted to give her a hug, but Octavia was glaring daggers at her brother. Lincoln tilted his head at Clarke and she shook her head, gesturing at the TV. His expression cleared into something like understanding, and he nudged his girlfriend into facing the TV, a small smile playing on his lips.

_Bellamy kept staring at her, and Clarke kept ignoring him until she finally said, “What?! What do you want? Spit it out.”_

_His eyes were welling up with tears when he asked. “Do you hate me?”_

_“I could never hate you.”_

_“Do **they** hate me?”_

_“No, they just…”_

_“Is it because I almost kissed you?” He said, voice gravelly._

_“Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s because you almost kissed me.”_

_He started wringing his hands and sad music swelled._

_“I’m sorry,” he said. A tear spilled past his lashes, catching the light, “I shouldn’t have done that. I… I’ve ruined everything, I’m so sorry.”_

_Clarke crawled over to him and sat back on her heels, wiping the tears from his face._

_“You’re right, you shouldn’t.” She fisted her free hand in his shirt angrily, “You can’t **almost** kiss someone and then avoid them for a week, Bellamy. You can’t almost kiss me and then walk away. **You can’t just almost kiss me–”**_

_The end of the sentence was smothered by Bellamy’s lips and romantic music crashed in the background as it faded to black. Block letters appeared again._

**THEY KICKED US OUT SHORTLY AFTER THIS.**

_It faded back to black to the sound of Clarke’s voice, “Bellamy. I’m in love with you.”_

_“You are?” Bellamy sounded completely in awe. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”_

**FINALLY! #bellarkeisREAL!!!!**

  
  
  


Then the credits rolled and the theme music started playing, and Clarke held her breath waiting for their friends to start yelling. It didn’t take long.

“What?!” Jasper threw his hands up. “What kind of bait and switch was that?!

Monty was next. “Oh my god.”

Jasper whirled around to face them. “Wait, does this mean what I think it means? Are you guys _together?!”_

Octavia got there faster than the rest of them. “You’ve been together for a _whole week_ and you didn’t think to, I don’t know, mention it to me?!”

“Or us?!” Jasper asked, offended, upending a bowl of potato chips in the process.

“Actually, I kind of get it,” Monty said.

“Thank you,” Clarke mouthed. He just smiled at her.

“I, for one, am very happy for you both,” Lincoln said, echoing Monty’s sentiment.

“How dare you, you’re supposed to be on my side!” Octavia snapped.

“And when you stop being irrationally upset that they hid it from you for six days so they could actually get used to it, you’re going to be completely ecstatic for them. I’m just grading ahead of the curve here babe,” he said consolingly.

She smacked his arm. “Of course I’m ecstatic for them! I’m overjoyed! I’ve been waiting for them to get their acts together for years! This is perfect!”

“You, uh, you wanna show any of that joy on your face, O?” Bellamy ventured.

“Shut up, I hate you,” she said, even as she clambered off the armchair and launched herself at the two of them. She hugged them for an unreasonably long time, and before she could get off them, Jasper and Monty essentially dogpiled the couch. Wells joined in as well, and Murphy sprinted out from the other room just to divebomb them, until the only one not being crushed was Lincoln, who was wisely sitting in the corner and taking an excessive amount of photos.

“Can’t breathe,” Clarke choked out dramatically, and they all slowly returned to their seats.

Bellamy scooped her into his lap and kissed her soundly, and when they broke apart, Murphy was sitting in her vacated seat.

She levelled a glare at him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Later,” he said, “Right now I’m thinking I might put on a quiz show.”

“Murphy, don’t you dare!”

Bellamy made a face. “What’s wrong with quiz shows?”

Clarke buried her face in his shirt and Wells and Murphy shared a look.

“Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!?! Sound off in the comments and you might actually make me cry tears of joy! (i'm very sleep deprived)
> 
> UPDATE: some people have been able to see the images and some haven't (have i mentioned yet that putting photos into ao3 made me pray for death??) so [here they are in order!](https://introvertedtaliswrites.tumblr.com/post/183289318980/all-the-tweets-from-my-fic-feels-different-in-a) And the final six from the very end of the fic are right [HERE!](https://introvertedtaliswrites.tumblr.com/post/183289379210/and-here-are-the-final-six-twitter-conversations)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> Much love cuties!!! <3 <3 <3


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